


FP-1313

by TinyFrostGiant



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Development, One-Shot, Other, Tragedy, turning point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 19:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10860240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyFrostGiant/pseuds/TinyFrostGiant
Summary: She knew this was the true test. If she were to make it as a stormtrooper, she had to kill them. But she didn't want to. Could she? Could she become the woman who would come to be known as Captain Phasma?





	FP-1313

Thud. Thud. Thud.  
The sound of stormtroopers’ boots pounding the ground filled FP-1313’s ears. She looked straight ahead, not daring to make a sound as her squadron approached the village. It was so quiet. So peaceful. Soon, it was not to be. All with a few simple shots.  
No, she told herself, this was not happening. She’d eaten just a portion too many at dinner last night. This was a nightmare, nothing more. She’d be back to her own mundane reality soon enough.  
The leader of the squadron barked commands. FP-1313’s fingers hesitated to fire her first shot. She glanced at her squadmates. They had already started firing, and several of them were staring at her. She flinched as the leader’s harsh voice scraped holes in her eardrums. There was no going back. The raid had begun.  
FP-1313 pulled the trigger. The first shot hit a tree just a few yards away. Grunting, she fired again, straight into the heart of the traitorous village. She heard a man scream as the shot found its mark.  
Not them. Not yet, she thought. She dragged her heels through the mud, leaving her presence etched on the planet. She took a breath and fired a third shot. Not now. Not now. Not ever.  
Thud. Thud. Thud.  
Shot number four. Shot number five. Shot number six. Three villagers down. Several hundred more to go. They would not let her return until everyone and everything had been burned into the quagmire.  
Not yet. Not now. Not ever.  
She scanned the area and sighed. They were not yet within her sights. It would be some time before she approached their house. Her stomach curled. She would never be ready for what she knew she must do.  
I can’t spare them. Everyone in this village supports that treacherous Resistance. These traitors must die. But not them. No, not them, not them.  
Boom. A yell. One trooper down.  
More yells. More villagers, more troopers down. Sixteen troopers left. A couple dozen villagers.  
FP-1313 froze as the squadron approached the heart of the village. Her pulse quickened; her heart fell still. Too close. Not them. Not yet. Never. I can’t…  
When she heard the leader’s orders to ransack the houses and burn them to the ground, she ignored them. She fired straight ahead. She saw nothing but the people caught in the sights of her blaster.  
Numb. Numb all over. It’s as though I am no longer human.  
She continued to ignore her commander. She could not, would not force herself into that house. They’d recognize her. She couldn’t allow that, even if they would die shortly afterwards. She couldn’t face that shame, that anger, that….hatred.  
Can’t feel a thing. Can’t feel a thing. Can’t do it. Won’t.  
The commander pulled her aside and whispered words that froze her blood. There was no more avoiding this. She had to go into that house and shoot the people inside. Even if she didn’t want to. Even though she could feel something nasty rising in her throat. Even though her legs were shaking.  
One foot at a time. One step through the mud. One shaking heart. One little voice at the very back of her skull, telling her it was wrong wrong wrong and she shouldn’t and she couldn’t and-  
No. You must. For them. If you want more, you do more. Simple as that.  
She felt their faces on her before she’d even gotten her other foot past the doorstep. She felt everything. The stares, the horror, the...the recognition. It was burning into her brain, burning faster, burning stronger, burning, burning everywhere.  
She could not breathe. She could not raise her blaster. She could not move. All she knew were the stares, the burning, the burning burning burning that wouldn’t stop…  
She swallowed back the tears, the vomit. She looked through her sights. There was her father, regal, defiant. There was her mother, weeping, reaching out for her daughter one last time.  
I can’t. Won’t. Shouldn’t. Nightmare. They can’t….won’t let me...I won’t let myself. But I have to. Have to have to have to….  
For a moment, she considered running away. Just letting go. Leading a better life. Realizing her mistakes. Letting them live. Letting someone live, just for once. Killing wasn’t her life.  
That was when she realized what was wrong. It was the killing. Killing killing killing, it’s all I ever did. Killing killing killing. If I stop the killing, I can save them. Save them, save them...from me.  
It’s all I ever wanted. And yet I can’t.  
She wanted to hold it off forever. She could hear the cries of her dying compatriots. She could hear the screeches of her commander, telling her to hurry. She could hear her own heart beating in protest.  
She could see her parents, knowing what was coming, ready, willing, patient, waiting. Burning their image into her brain. Those eyes, telling her to stop, to spare them, to show them she still cared.  
Lost cause, a lost cause. They will never see me again.  
She aimed. She stared at them through the sights. Saw the crying, the cold cold eyes that would never leave her for as long as she lived.  
Fire. Ready aim fire.  
Burning. Forever burning.  
Ready aim fire. Ready aim fire. Keep it down. Swallow. Breathe.  
She got ready to pull the trigger.  
Ready aim fire. Ready aim fire.  
But there was one thing that remained. She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.  
And she whispered, Goodbye.  
And then there was red. Red in her vision. Red on her armor. Red on her hands.  
Red on their faces. Red on her face.  
She wiped it away, but the stains still haunted her. I killed them. Killed them, killed them, killed them. Murder is in my blood.  
She had proven herself. She was a real stormtrooper now. And yet she could not leave that house. She couldn’t leave the bodies behind; the bodies that had borne her, guided her, loved her, supported her. All covered in blood and ash and desecration.  
Her. That was her in that puddle of blood. The blood that covered her face, sank into her hands, bled down her spine, wrapped her heart in death.  
I did it. And they’re gone.  
She vomited. The floor reeked. Her heart bled. Her soul cried once, then died.  
Then she smiled. She took off her helmet, shook out her hair. She looked at the blood on her hands and smiled wider. Slowly, she lifted her hand to her face, then drank.  
As red rushed past her lips, she thought to herself, I will never love again.  
I am FP-1313. Soon, I will be a commander myself.  
And with her last shred of compassion gone, Phasma laughed and left the slaughter behind.


End file.
